


Ashes of Humanity

by thedalekcaan (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demon Dean, M/M, Mark of Cain, Post 9x23, Psychological Torture, Self Harm, Torture, wowow shit writing because of pressure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1711700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thedalekcaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knights of Hell are ruthless, chaotic, and last but not least almost un-killable. Now that the only person could kill a knight is one himself, only his dying angel and brother who can barely get enough sleep to function are left to save him from the hell in his own head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ashes of Humanity

**Author's Note:**

> This my first time trying to write anything even slightly long, so any feedback I could get would be fantastic considering that I really don't know what I'm doing. I'm also editing the tags and such during the writing process.

Dean knew what death felt like; this wasn’t it. His soul, or whatever was left of it after the Mark had had its way with him, wasn’t whisked off into the veil or where ever souls went with heaven shut down. He was connected to his body through a thin thread of consciousness, deadening most of his senses. Well, it was no mystery what was doing that. His thoughts were dull and slow, as if they were moving through molasses. He could sense nothing of his body except for a faint sense of touch and motion. He felt Sam hugging him to his chest and crying onto his shoulder, pleading into the nape of Dean’s neck for him to come back; he felt himself being carried to the Impala. Then, Sam lay him down on the leather of the backseat, and he felt the vibrations of the road on the journey back to the bunker until he was placed on his bed. He was still then, barely comprehending his journey until everything sharpened. 

The blade was being placed in his hand, and he could feel a hot stream of energy blazing through his arm between the mark and the blade. The fog in his head cleared suddenly, jolting him back into his body and filling his senses. He could taste his blood and the air smelled thick and metallic. Crowley’s gravely voice filled the air. 

“Listen to me, Dean Winchester: What you’re feeling right now, it’s not death.” 

His heart was hammering against his sternum, and adrenalin was coursing through his veins like fire. The current of energy running between the mark and the blade was intensifying and growing hotter with glowing, metallic heat. 

“It’s life. A new kind of life.” 

Crowley’s voice continued to drone on with a thick, almost sweet texture. His senses were sharp and red, yellow, and white spots flew wildly across his vision. Dean’s heart was beating so hard that it was a wonder it didn’t crack his ribs, and his brain was working overdrive, tearing itself apart. Crowley was lifting his arm and the blade to his chest. Everything in his mind was on fire. His senses were hyperactive and images of hell and demons and blood flashes across his eyelids. 

“Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel.”

Everything flashed like lightening through Dean’s brain, and it felt like he was being ripped to shreds. A burning, white, metallic energy flooded his head and made him feel like was about to burst. The blade sat on his chest and he could feel pulses of white hot energy pulsing from it and rebounding from the mark back into his body and reverberating in his skull. All of his senses were metallic and full of a tinny static. 

“Let’s go take a howl at that moon.”

As soon as Crowley said those words he was kicked into his head, and he was falling into the recesses of his mind. 

* * *

Sam stood in the dungeon of the bunker, the smell of burning herbs floating through the dank air. His eyes were swollen and burning from crying. He was shaking and exhausted, but he could feel his grief swirling in his stomach like an icy cold, molten lead. His senses were slightly hazed by whiskey, but his grief for his brother was sharp and piercing. However, as Sam swayed in front of the door, he was furious. It filled him even more than his grief, at least for the moment. Metatron had killed his brother and so many angels, and Crowley had made Dean into a weapon, destroying his brother. Ten seconds passed before Crowley appeared in front of him. 

“Hello, Moose,” Crowley said, his voice thick and dark. 

“You did this to him. You knew what was going to happen, that he was going to die.” Sam was furious, yelling in a voice that was cracked from grief. 

“Don’t get your antlers in a twist,” Crowley said. “All you-“

“No!” Sam interrupted. “You listen to me. You are going to tell me how to get him back. How to get rid of the mark. How to reverse every fucking thing that you have done to my brother.” Sam was yelling now, but he was beyond caring. He wasn’t going to stop until he knew that this was shattered beyond repair. 

“If you’re looking to make a deal, I can’t help you. This is you can’t patch this up.” The corners of Crowley’s mouth twisted up slightly, but crookedly. He was covering something, but Sam didn’t have the capacity to care what it was. 

“I’m not going to make a fucking deal.” Sam barked a harsh, wry laugh, turning in place before setting his attention on the demon again. “If I can’t fix this, you’re paying. This is your fault; you got him into this, and you’re going to pay for it.” He had pulled Ruby’s knife out of his jacket pocket and was now holding the hilt tightly in his hand, hiding the blade behind his thigh. He tears prickling at his eyes again before he ran at Crowley, anger rushing through him like gasoline bursting in his veins. 

However, when he reached Crowley, the demon had disappeared. In his attack, Sam had smudged the paint of the devil’s trap that had been surrounding Crowley. 

“Fuck. Fuck!” he yelled, storming out of the dungeon. He shoved the knife into his pocket and shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes, feeling defeated, exhausted, and useless. 

* * *

Castiel felt broken. He had existed for millennia without feeling, and now what he felt was a tidal wave. “Dean Winchester is dead.” He could feel the drain of his grace pulling him down, but he no longer cared to fight it. A multidimensional wave of celestial intent, an angel of the lord had been broken and hollowed out in only four words. 

Heaven was free from Metatron, and his family fractured by the fall could return home. They looked to him as a leader, but he was no leader. He’d been god before, and in doing so he’d killed hundreds of his siblings. How strange that one human, his righteous man, could mean more to him than heaven, earth, and everything else in creation. He was more human than he could ever have thought, human enough to feel love. 

He sifted through the souls pouring into heaven through the veil in search of Dean Winchester, but to no avail. Humans prized love so much, but why would they cherish something that could so easily tear them apart. Castiel was done with heaven and earth, his connection to humanity ripped from him, even more painful than losing his wings. He drifted through the steady stream of souls flowing into the place they would spend the rest of eternity. Finally, he made his way to earth. Sam probably needed him as much as he needed Sam. 

When he made it to the bunker, Sam was sitting at the bunker’s table, head in hands. Upon lifting his eyes to Cas, he stood and walked toward the angel, hugging his friend tightly.  
“Where is he?” Sam asked. His voice was raw and his eyes were red. 

“I don’t know. I searched for his soul for hours. He isn’t in heaven.”

Sam nodded before closing his eyes heavily and rubbing them with the heels of his hands. “Do you want to see him?”

“I think that would be best.” 

They walked silently toward Dean’s room. When the procession came to the door, Sam put his hand on Cas’s shoulder. 

“You’ll be okay, right?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never felt anything this overwhelming before.”

Sam’s eyes flashed down, and he swallowed heavily. “Well, I guess you should go.”

“Yes,” Cas said as he touched the door, sweeping his hand along the wood before pressing into the room. Inside, Dean’s body sat, his eyes pitch black.

* * *

Dean fell into the chasm of his mind. There was not bottom and no walls, just darkness save for two windows far above him in space. He was screaming; he had always been afraid of airplanes, but the falling was worse. There was no end and all he could feel was wind rushing past his ears and his eardrums popping painfully. 

The mark had thrown him into the depths of his mind, usurping control of his body. Dean’s eyes were open, and, with Dean falling through whatever hell the mark could create with all of his memories and fears, there was nothing left to fill them but darkness. After what felt like an eternity when Dean’s throat was too scream any longer, the scene changed to his first moments in hell. Everything around him glowed green and steel cables spanned a distance that was seemingly infinite. He could feel the rusty metal worming it’s way through his body, making blood pour from the wounds. His throat was too swollen and damaged to scream, and as soon as the cables had fully pierced his body, he was falling again. 

Shackles formed around his wrists as he fell until he was jerked to a halt, suddenly in chains hanging from a nonexistent ceiling. The force of being jerked to a halt by the shackles had broken the skin on his wrist, making blood drip down his arms; broken several bones in his wrist; and dislocated a shoulder. For a while, Dean hung by his wrists in an empty void, shaking violently from adrenaline and terror. Eventually, a room began to materialize around him: the bunker’s dungeon. Foolishly, he let himself hope that he was no longer in his head; no matter what circumstances he found himself in in reality couldn’t be worse than in there. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest when Sam walked through the door, but something was wrong. His brother’s mouth was twisted into a cruel smile and his eyes shined in way that Sam’s never could, even when he was gorged on Ruby’s blood. 

The creature walked up to him and ran its nails along his chest as it walked around him, inspecting him. After walking a full circle around Dean, it snapped and a table full of knives and devices that Dean only remembered from his time Alistair’s prodigy appeared. As the creature picked up a long, stainless steal knife, it looked at him, feigning pity, before beginning it’s work. He screamed while it tore at him, until it found a way to cut his vocal chords. He couldn’t die, no matter how much he wanted release. It cut every tendon in his body, broke every bone, and did it all with a smile plastered on his brother’s face. 

This continued until there was nothing left of Dean. The creature stepped back, pleased with its work, and waved at him before snapping its fingers again. Suddenly, Dean was whole again and, in the creature’s place, stood his angel.  
“Cas,” Dean groaned, his eyes drooping as he hung limply from the chains, all of his energy gone. 

“Not quite, buddy.” It put its hand on his cheek, nails digging into his skin, and pressed its lips against his, biting him before it pulled away. 

With a malicious smile, the creature walked to the table, seemingly fascinated by the tools covering it, half of which were covered in his blood by now. After a time, it chose a tool that Dean remembered as Alistair’s favorite. It was bell shaped and metal, with six shutters from which mechanical snakes would emerge. The creature pressed the device against his chest, and it began doing its work. The snakes dug their way into his skin, worming around under his skin. They dug deeper and deeper into him, working their way to his organs, which they preceded too puncture and tear apart. 

The creature smiled at him as he screamed, its teeth gleaming in the florescent light. When the snakes finally pulled out, Dean was slouching, eyes shut tightly and throat raw. The creature grabbed his chin, making him look into its eyes, Cas’s eyes. But its eyes were dull and cold, as well as his smile. 

“Bye, hon,” it said, and left with a flapping of wings. Dean was whole again. He was chained to a chair, now, and he was still shaking. His breaths were coming in fast and heavy, and his heart was beating rapidly. Exhausted, Dean awaited his next torturer. 

* * *

“Sam!” Cas yelled, running toward Dean as Sam burst into the room. Cas tried to pin Dean to the bed, to hold him down so that they could figure out what was happening, but he was swept aside easily as if he were just a fly. 

“Well, easy there buddy boy,” he said grinning at Sam. “Oh, and angel, don’t think that you can fight me. I wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty face of yours.”

Cas stared at Dean in shock. His face was twisted and covered in scales that glowed like garnets. He had a snout like a jackal’s, but the mouth was full of fangs like razors with a snakelike tongue flitting between them. However, with Castiel’s grace fading away, he could only see it through Dean’s face. His righteous man was a demon, and a powerful one at that. 

He could see Sam still standing near the door, obviously in shock. 

“Dean,” he said, the skin between his eyebrows creased and his mouth opening and closing slightly. “What did you do to my brother?” Sam asked, and Cas could hear venom creeping into his voice. 

“Oh, well I am your brother. Or at least I will be soon enough.” The demon was smirking infuriatingly, tilting its head side to side. It was enjoying itself. “Let’s just say that I’m autopilot until Dean’s ready to take the controls.”

“But, how?” Sam was still in shock, his fatigued brain unable to process the information. “His tattoo-“

“Sam,” Cas interrupted, “Dean had the mark, and so did Cain.”

“Oh, how clever your angel is. You see, Cain used to be human, but then dear old Luci gave him the mark. And yatta, yatta, he became the leader of the knights of hell. Now, if only your brother had read the terms and conditions, because history’s repeating itself. And thanks for getting rid of Abbadon, because now, I’m the most powerful demon there is.” Smiling smugly, the demon shrugged. “So, a shitty little bit of ink’s not exactly going to work on me. Oh, and don’t even bother with the “demon curing whatever.” It only works on the piss poor demons, like that king of yours.”

“Don’t worry though, I’m not going to hurt you. Not yet, anyway; I have special plans for both of you.” The demon stopped and grinned, almost genuinely this time, as if a new idea had just popped into its mind. “You can even chain me up if that would make you feel better. It won’t do anything, but I’ll come quietly.”

This confused Cas, but it wasn’t exactly an offer that he was keen on refusing. It was probably just a show of power. He glanced at Sam, who nodded, apparently having the same train of thought. Cas rose from the floor, and grabbed one of the demon’s shoulders while Sam took the other. Together, they took the demon to the bunker’s dungeon, where they chained him to a chair, securing him as tightly as possible without damaging Dean’s body. When they finished, they left the demon, who was singing “Highway to Hell” at the time, alone in the dungeon. 

Sam sat heavily once they reached the main room while Cas stood in the corner, horrified. The air was heavy between them, but neither spoke. Cas stood slouched against a wall, and the expression on his face finally carried the weight of all of his billions of years. But still, he looked small, almost as small as he felt. His righteous man was a knight of hell. His Father must think himself hilarious, making him save Dean from hell when it would only take a few years until the hell was in Dean. He would give anything to save Dean, his grace, his life, his home; but he’d already given up everything he had. Angels weren’t supposed to have feelings, and now he saw why. They lived to long to risk getting close. 

It was Sam who finally broke the silence. 

“Cas, are you okay?” 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? He is your brother.”

“Yeah, but you’re an angel. Like you said, you’ve never felt anything like this before.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Cas replied, “You need to get some rest.”

Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes, “I doubt that that’s possible.” However, he stood up and began to make his way to his room. “I think you should try to sleep, too.”

This surprised Cas, making him lift his gaze from the floor. “I’m an angel, you know I don’t need sleep.”

“Your grace is burning away. Plus, you look as exhausted as I feel. Both of us are in shock anyway, so being awake won’t do much good. You can pick whichever room you want.”

Before Cas found a room of his own, he stopped by Dean’s room. He could still smell the metallic scent of blood in the air. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t cope with the scent of Dean’s blood any longer, so he continued on. He’d seen millennia pass by, billions of people dying while he watched humankind from afar. How funny it was that one human could mean so much to him. In the next room that Cas found, he lay on the bed. Refusing to think anymore, Cas fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

Sam lay in his bed, turning restlessly. He was utterly exhausted, but unable to go to sleep. Pressing his hands to his face and biting his knuckles, he turned onto his back. He stared at the ceiling, his brother’s black eyes filling the blank space. The new Cain had been born, and Dean was dead, crushed by the mark. Dean had died before, and every single time had crushed him; but this was too much. Sam knew how much Dean would have hated this. Both of them had been taught to hunt demons and creatures like them because they hurt people and ruined their lives. If there was even a scrap of Dean left in his body, this would kill him. 

Sam gave up on sleep then. He lifted himself off of the bed, and started to make his way heavily to the kitchen for a cup of the ever present coffee. 

After his coffee, Sam walked to the dungeon, following the path mechanically. He tried not to think, and, even with his exhausted brain, he failed to stop the continuous stream of “My brother’s a demon” from circling through his mind. However, he continued through the motions despite the noise in his head. Everything around him felt cottony and dull, as if static was filling the air. Sam could feel the shock and grief and anger floating around in his head, but for now, he was too exhausted to process them. 

When he reached the bookshelves that hid the dungeon, he leaned his head against them. He didn’t know anything that he could say, or why he came there. Maybe it was just something in the back of his head telling him that maybe none of this was real. Maybe he had never gotten out of the cage in the first place; now was certainly torturous enough to qualify. Finally, he pushed the doors open. 

The demon inside looked different. He was slouched and his head was bent down. When he lifted his eyes to see who had come through the door, his eyes didn’t have any of the fire the demons had. They were tired and bloodshot, with dark circles weighing the now dull green down. This wasn’t a knight of hell, full of fire, rage, and a thirst for destruction; this was a human. 

“Dean?” Sam asked, cursing himself for having any hope. In his life, that never gave him anything but disappointment. 

“Oh, this is fun for you isn’t it?” he said, bitterness and exhaustion weighing on Dean’s voice. “You like playing with me. Just get on with it.” Dean was slouching in his chair, resting on the chains that held him back, and his voice was torn and empty. Sam could see Dean’s breath picking up. 

“What?” The skin between his eyebrows creased, and he started to walk forward. 

“Get on with it!” Dean nearly yelled at him. “You’ve been tearing me apart for god knows how long, and now you’re playing games and trying to fuck with my head. I know what you are, and you aren’t going to fool me.”

“Dean? It’s me. It’s Sam. Really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam was worried, and he was starting to breathe faster as well. This was Dean. It was really Dean, he could tell that much, but there was something very badly wrong. He had to get Cas. 

“Just fucking do it!” Dean was yelling, barely seeing him despite the fact that his eyes were trained directly on Sam’s face. He was starting to strain against his chains, and Sam was afraid that he would hurt himself. 

Sam moved forward and removed the chains from around Dean. Dean flinched when he approached him, but any visible anger or fear faded to confusion when he saw what Sam was doing. However, Dean kept all of it to himself. 

“I’m going to go get Cas, okay?” Sam said, his concern obvious in his voice. He left the room, leaving Dean alone still slouching in his chair as if any strength that had been in him had been sucked out. Sam walked towards Cas’s room, adrenaline and caffeine fueling his exhausted brain. He burst into the room without knocking, waking the angel. Sam told him everything that had happened, and shock filled his features. Without saying a word, Cas hastily got out of bed and moved to the door and Sam followed. 

* * *

Surely that couldn’t have been Sam; he was never that lucky. The creature had looked worn out and wrecked, almost like the Sam that had been at that church before the fall. The creature had moved like Sam, and worn Sam’s expressions. And why would the creature have taken off his chains, unless there was some trap waiting for him outside of the doors. He might have even checked if it didn’t feel as if every cell in his body was on fire. He sat in the chair, hoping that he’d finally been let out of the hell in his head and waiting for those hopes to be crushed. 

His heart began to pick up when he heard the decades old hinges on the dungeon doors creak open, revealing Sam and Cas. The angel’s face immediately collapsed, his eyes widening and mouth opening. He rushed toward Dean and putting his hands on his cheeks, leaving both Sam and Dean taken aback by the intensity of the angel’s reaction. 

“Dean,” Cas said, voice almost quavering, “Your soul looks almost as damaged as it did after hell. What happened to you?”

Dean looked at Cas’s eyes, and he could see genuine worry in them. Fuck, couldn’t believe that he was going to fall for this. “It’s amazing the kind of hell that can be made in my head.” He cursed himself for how broken and weary his voice sounded. 

Sam approached them from his position beside the door, shock painted on his expression. Dean could see that his brother was at a loss for words, opening and closing his mouth before giving up. When he returned his gaze to Cas, the angel had removed his hands from Dean’s face and stood up rigidly, his hands rubbing his before they settled in a prayer like position at his lips. 

“What happened while I was gone?” Dean asked, breaking the silence. 

“You were a demon,” Sam answered, “a knight of hell.”

Dean closed his eyes tightly. He was an abomination, or was being turned into one. He was being ripped apart in his own head so that he could take full control of his body as a knight of hell. He deserved to be hunted. 

“There has to be something that we can do. Maybe you could cure me.” Dean was desperate. 

“Dean, that wouldn’t work on a knight. You know that.” Cas said, pacing in front of Dean’s chair. 

He knew that Cas was right, and he could see that Sam knew it too. 

“Well, I guess you’ll need to kill me.”

“Dean, you-“

“Shut up, Sam. I can’t do this. I can’t hurt people.” He put his head in his hands. “I’m fine with dying. Hell, I’m already dead. It’s better than being a monster.”

After he’d spoken, Dean could feel his words weighing the air down. Sam and Cas looked broken and exhausted. They knew it was true; both of them were too smart to be able to believe anything else. 

Suddenly, Dean could feel claws on his legs, digging into his and dragging him into his head. His head whipped back as far as it could, and he started yelling in pain as the claws dug deeper into him. His vision was red with pain as he was thrown back into his head. Soon, he was falling into darkness again, the abyss echoing with the sound his voice saying, “Miss me?”

* * *

Castiel had been tired less than half an hour ago, but now he was hunched over the toilet in the bathroom closest to his room. He was sickened by what he had seen. He’d always thought Dean’s soul to be so bright and beautiful, despite all of Dean’s doubt. But now, it was full of stitches and lacerations as well as the dark red tinge of tortured souls. 

The first time he had seen Dean, his soul was scarred, black, and gnarled; a half formed demon. The demon screeched when he felt Cas’s grace burn him, an unearthly sound that almost convinced him that there wasn’t enough left of the righteous man to be saved. However, once he had gotten past the scar tissue, what he saw was dull and broken, but still strong enough to hang on. Everything about Dean had made Cas see humanity as something else, not just defenseless sheep that he needed to protect. His will and strength and passion had remained despite thirty years of daily torture. It was then that Cas knew why his father had loved humanity so much, and he cried out, “Dean Winchester is saved” across the celestial wavelength. From then on, he loved humanity. 

But then, Dean was only a mission from his father. Now, he was his righteous man, he cared about Dean more than he had cared about almost anything else, even his father. Now Dean was being transformed into a demon, and there was no way to save him. Another wave of nausea washed over Cas, and he heaved dryly again. He could feel the grace inside of him flicker, as if trying to burn its way out of him. He heard Sam’s footsteps approaching the door. 

“Cas, you okay?” Sam questioned as he knocked on the door. 

“I’m fine. You can come in if you want.”

As Sam stepped through the door, Cas stood. He could see that Sam was in shock, too much had happened in one day for anything else. 

“No, you aren’t, you look like shit.”

“I could say the same to you.”

Sam scoffed dryly at this before turning his gaze to the ground, “How bad was he?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I’m his brother, Cas, I think I do.”

“He’s being tortured with everything in his head. He isn’t going to do well.” Cas snapped, gazing sharply at Sam. 

Sam nodded, biting his lip before speaking again. “That thing said it was on autopilot until Dean could take over. It’s turning him, isn’t it.”

“Yes.” 

The air was like a vacuum between them. Sam stood against the door for a few seconds before leaving Cas alone with his head in his hands. 

* * *

Dean flew through what seemed like weeks of torture. The time crawled past him slowly, leaving a bloody trail in his mind. In the beginning, it was mainly him being torn at. Sometimes, it was by the people he cared about: Sam, Cas, Jo, Lisa, Kevin, Charlie, even his mom. Other times, it was Alistair, repeating every mistake he’d ever made into his ear. 

Eventually, though, the mark started to get more creative. He watched everyone he’d ever given a crap about die in front of him. Sometimes at his hand. Every death he saw was bloody and painful, and there was no way that he could ever help. More than once when he was forced to be a torturer, he tried to turn the knife on himself, but time still dragged on. Dean had no control over what he did during these sessions, but he was aware of everything. They begged and pleaded with him, and it hurt as badly as any knife

Once, Dean was forced to torture ten year old Sam. He’d banged at the walls in his mind for hours, yelling for his brother through sobs. When Sam died, Dean was released. He hugged the small body to his chest, his brother’s blood soaking his clothes. Dean cried into the Sam’s hair for what seemed to be hours, shaking violently. When the scene changed, he was too weak to stand, but he was forced on. 

Eventually, he grew colder. He was too tired of feeling, forcing him to harden. When his body was forced to torture, he sat in the corner of his mind numbly, barely hearing the shouts and screams. It would hurt too much to do anything else, so he adapted. Time continued to pass in Dean’s personal hell, spilling blood as it went. 

The mark was playing with him; he’d certainly had enough time to figure that out. It wanted to play with his emotions as much as it could to ware him down. Hell existed to torture souls and to twist and tear them beyond recognition so every bit of humanity in them was lost. Dean knew that his hell would serve the same purpose. The mark was controlling him, but it still wasn’t him. If only he had the strength to fight it. 

Eventually, after god knows how long, Dean woke up back in the bunker. He didn’t have enough energy to be shocked this time, but he almost sobbed with the relief of it. For a while, he sat, not daring to stretch the tendons and muscles that had been torn apart not long ago. Sam came into the room, going through the stages of shock and worry that accompanied finding his brother instead in of the mark, but his words were nothing but static. He wished that he’d been able to sleep, before he was pulled back, but Dean knew he wouldn’t be lucky enough to have that. When Sam spoke, he could barely respond, and his words were slow, rough, and slurred. That only served to worry Sam more, but Dean didn’t have the energy to bother comprehending his expression. 

He was there for longer this time, half an hour. The meeting went through the same steps as the last one; panicked questions, the retrieval of Cas, and more worry. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean wished that he didn’t need to bother them. He wasn’t worth their worry. “I’m proud of us,” he’d said. He had been too, both himself and Sam. He’d failed too much and hurt too many for that now. When the meeting did eventually end, he was dragged back into his head in the same manner as the last time, claws digging into him and scratching his bones. His nerves fired rapidly, as if he’d been electrocuted. Dean let a broken sound at this, half yell and half groan with the back of the metal chair pressing into the base of his skull. Pitiful, he thought. 

When he was thrown back into his mind, he felt almost dead. Al least this time he had the image of Sam and Cas’s worried faces to keep him sane until the images would fade. Time continues to trudge past slowly, and he didn’t know how much more he could take.

* * *

Sam knew his brother was broken. Hell was fire and blood and metallic electricity, and Dean’s head was wrought with it with no escape. When Cas had taken Sam’s hell, it had only had a partial hold and Cas’s batteries were fully charged. Sam wracked his brain for a way out, but it was too exhausted to be of any help and too full of stale adrenaline for sleep. 

He lay in bed, wishing for something to knock him out. He could drink, but he decided against it, opting instead for a bottle of Nyquil. When he did fall asleep, it was dark, complete, and dreamless. 

After six hours, he woke up and trudged into the kitchen for coffee. Then, he checked on his brother. The thought of Dean as a knight of hell was still cotton in his head, unable to seem like anything more than a bad dream, but Sam was able to go through the motions mechanically, like routine. 

As soon as he entered the room, he knew that Dean was the one in charge; but he wasn’t in good condition. Dean was held up only by the chains that had been containing the demon, and his eyes were drooping and glazed over. His brother hadn’t even looked up at the door opening. 

“Dean?” he said, cautious and low. He approached Dean slowly, like he would a wild animal. He still didn’t raise his eyes, or acknowledge Sam’s existence. 

“Dean!” he half yelled. This was not good, really not good. “Dean, what happened?”

He only received a groan in response, but that was better than nothing at all. Nothing else he asked received the same attention. He needed Cas. 

“I’m going to go get Cas,” he said, putting his hand on Dean’s leg before leaving the room. 

Cas, who appeared to be doing nothing but standing around in his room, moved almost immediately to join Sam. They marched down the hall in a tense silence like a funeral procession. Neither of them knew what they were going to say to Dean, they just needed to see him. 

When they entered, Cas immediately averted his eyes from Dean, like he couldn’t stand the sight. Bad sign. 

Cas approached Dean, forcing his eyes onto Dean’s blank face, “Dean…what happened to you?”

At this Dean raised his heavy eyes slightly, but he offered no response before going limp. Neither Sam nor Cas had expected an answer, and they could fill in the blank left by Dean’s silence. His brother was being thrown in and out of a constant internal hell, the lack of anything that used to be Dean, fracturing Sam and Cas like an aftershock. It was unfortunate that demons were the creative ones. 

Suddenly, Dean kicked his head back and let out a groan, and his muscles tensed visibly with pain. Sam could tell that this was just a game for the demon, causing as much suffering as it could by playing with them. Sam felt useless during the transformation; there was nothing he could do to help his brother. Soon, the demon took control, smiling widely and winking at them. 

They couldn’t take much more of this. None of them could, especially not Dean. There had to be something that they could do; he couldn’t just stand by and let Dean turn into a knight of hell. 

* * *

Cas sat on his bed, head in hands. He should be able to get over one human; he’d been a soldier in wars lasting longer than the entirely of the human race and enough blood to fill an ocean. So many humans had died under his watch, and he’d given up an entire army for his righteous man. He’d know his feelings for a while, but he was still baffled by them after eons of simply observing. 

Suddenly, he was snapped out of his thoughts by a pang in his stomach. Hunger

He tried not to wonder about the ramifications of this as he walked into the Winchesters’ kitchen, but they broke through anyway. His grace was trying to break out of his vessel, killing Jimmy Novak’s body along with everything that made Cas. It was almost impossible to tell the difference between the two anymore. He almost didn’t mind dying, he’d been alive long enough, even if he hadn’t really lived until recently. The grace in his body tasted acrid and foreign, like it was opposing every wavelength of his celestial form. He could feel it roiling inside him, trying to burn its way out. Whenever he drew power from it, it fought back. He might as well just give it up and live as a human with Sam. Cas opened the fridge, grabbing something to eat before leaving. 

Going through the motions of a human. It felt useless when they all led to nothing, but Cas proceeded because there was no other alternative. 

* * *

All of this was becoming much too monotonous to be healthy. Dean could tell that time passed at the same time in actual hell as it did in his head, but his own personal demon seemed to have run out of ideas, killing off his family again and again and again. He was tired of this and wanted to get out, but his feelings were not born of pain and sorrow as much as resignation. 

He went through the time deep in the walls he’d constructed, his soul feeling the pain, but not processing it. It was all dull and bleary; the only thing that was at all sharp was the pain that had become an expected constant. 

However, Dean was partially jarred out of his haze when he noticed something new. He was alone in a room with plain concrete walls, fully equipped with everything a first class torturer would need except a victim. Alone, he waited slumping against a wall, barely awake. Eventually, he slipped out of consciousness, his soul resting itself for the first time in what seemed like years. 

When Dean finally awoke, he had gained enough sense to wonder why the fuck he was there. He’d been subjected to nonstop torture for, well, not even god would know how long, and all of a sudden it had just stopped. He almost allowed himself to relish in the change, but there had to be something behind this. Nothing in his own head could actually turn out for the better. 

The mark of Cain was on Dean’s soul as well as his body. He’d never really had the time to look at it before, but now he could see a faint glow coming from it. It almost seemed to come in tendrils of red and orange. If it hadn’t disgusted Dean so much, it would have been beautiful. Everything about it had caused this; it had made him some monster. He dug his fingernails into it, hard. It hurt, causing pleasure to run through him as serotonin began pumping through his veins. 

After all the pain he’d gone through, nothing did more than hurt. Despite the pain, this felt good, and Dean dug his nails deeper into his skin. He pulled his hand back and looked at the purple half-moons. Dean ran his fingers over the semicircles and picked at them, still not breaking the skin. The mark on his forearm almost seemed to mock him for not being able to make it bleed. He started dragging his nails across his skin, finally breaking the skin on the mark; but it was still there. It wasn’t enough. 

Dean looked over to the corner of the room at the table. Knives, razors, machetes, any tool a torturer would ever dream of gleamed, seemingly amiable. A haze covered his vision, and he was almost unaware of what he was doing. He just needed to get something sharp. Upon selecting a small razor, Dean sat by the table. It was sharp, and it easily drew blood from the pad of his thumb. He began to outline the mark shallowly, shadowing the light it gave off with a rich red. It stung more than anything else, only slightly deeper than the average scratch. 

It wasn’t enough; he needed it to hurt more. There was so much that he’d done; hurting everyone he loved both in his head and out. He knew that he was hurting the real Sam and Cas with this game the demon was playing. The blade dug deeper into his skin, drawing more and more blood around the outline of the mark. He bit his tongue, keeping back a groan from the pain. 

Dean deserved this; he knew he did after everything he’d done. His fat glistened in an outline around the mark of Cain. Blood trickled from the capillaries he’d severed, filling the indent like a river. Not enough, still not enough. 

He replaced the razor on the table, and grabbed a stainless steal knife. This kind of pain wasn’t hot; it was icy cold, sending shivers down his spine. It hurt so much, but he felt like he needed it. It was different feeling both sides of a blade, and it almost made him sick. Despite the temptation, he’d never done this before; he could always take it out on something else. Now it almost felt cleansing. Ignoring the churning feeling in his stomach, he went on and dug deeper. The flow of blood picked up, signaling that he’d cut a vein. He still hadn’t reached any tendons, and when he did, he kicked his head back, high on the pain. He’d lost control of his ring finger. 

It had gone beyond tracing the mark; the mark had been obliterated, but he still continued until he was satisfied. Finally, he dropped the knife, and let his arm lie limp at his side. His clothes were covered in his blood. Blood that he had spilled. He couldn’t move three of his fingers. The blankness of his mind finally dropped, and Dean saw what he’d done. It would have shocked him, but there wasn’t much to be shocking anymore. He knew that the demon was playing with him; this was nothing but fun and games for it. Dean just hoped this didn’t become a habit. Then, the blood loss, after what seemed like eternity of not doing it’s job, was allowed to take him from consciousness.

* * *

Sam poured over every book he could find the might have any useful information, but they all gave him the same thing: complete and utter bullshit. The curing ritual wouldn’t work, the demon had said that and Sam got the feeling that it had no reason to lie when it came to its power. His mind was trying to drag itself through molasses, only tiring itself more in the process. There had to be something, Just one fucking thing that could help them. 

Everything in Sam felt stale and slow. He was running on caffeine, which seemed to but most of its power into making him jittery instead of productive. Something in him would either combust or melt if there he couldn’t find anything soon. His eyes ran over the pages of every book he could find once, twice, three times until he couldn’t even read the words because they were too busy blurring and floating around the page. 

Sam started, raising his head from the table. A hand was on his shoulder, and it didn’t take much thought to determine that Cas had woken him. 

“Sam, you need to sleep. Being exhausted isn’t going to help Dean.”

“Neither is doing nothing. There needs to be something that we can do.” He sounded desperate, that much was obvious. Strangely enough, he didn’t have the mind to care. “There’s nothing in here,” Sam said, gesturing to the mountainous stack of books on the dining table. 

“Maybe this can’t be fixed.” Cas’s eyes were locked on the floor or the table, never meeting Sam’s. He couldn’t believe that; they’d succeeded with no chances before. 

“Come on, there needs to be something,” Sam insisted, putting his hands against his eyes and starting to pace. “Just fucking something!”

His brain wasn’t working. Every time he tried to think, it felt like he was swimming upriver and getting more and more tired as he went. There was something that he wasn’t remembering, but his brain was too preoccupied with not accepting anything that was happening to be of any use. 

“Crowley!” Sam slammed his hands on the table in front of him, and Cas cocked his head slightly more than usual, widening his eyes. “He was there the entire fucking time with Dean when he got the mark!”

Sam was yelling, but, again, he couldn’t give a rat’s ass. “That son of a bitch needs to know something. We’ve got to call him.”

For the first time in the last two days, Sam saw hope light up in Cas’s eyes. The angel’s head whipped up, suddenly attentive. 

“I’ll gather supplies,” said Cas, already heading out on his mission. No complaint about how small of a chance this was, not that Sam had expected any. 

He made his way to the dungeon, newly awake. He should try not to get his hopes up, but it was too late for that. They would need the dungeon, and the demon in Dean would probably realize what they were doing. A supply closet wouldn’t work; maybe they could lock it in Dean’s room. Plus, if Dean came to while they were summoning their dear, dear king, if would be more comforting to be in his own bed. At least, that’s what Sam hoped. 

The doors slid open. When this was all over, someone would need to grease the hinges on those things. 

“Ah, so you’ve come to solemnly stare at my beautiful face again. Fantastic. You humans are always so sentimental. I’m glad I’m not going to be one of-“

“Shut the fuck up and come with me.” The demon’s eyes narrowed at this, calculating. Nothing could be easy for him could it. 

Sam fumbled with the chains, getting them off of the chair and around Dean’s body again much to slowly. The demon’s insistence on moving as much as possible and swaying constantly didn’t help much either. 

“There’s nothing you can do, ya know. He’s too far gone to be saved. Really, you’re just wasting your time with the hassle.”

“Shut up,” Sam snapped. He didn’t want to deal with the demon’s snarky babbling. 

They trundled along the hallway to Dean’s room, Sam pushing the demon along the whole way. It didn’t seem to want to resist; it liked to play with them and watch them scramble for solutions. It kept turning to talk to Sam, telling him in exquisite detail what it was doing to Dean. Sam tried to block it out, and eventually he was angry and annoyed enough were a lovely roaring in his ears did the job quite nicely. He pushed at the demon harder, trying to make it less of a hindrance to any kind of movement. 

When the harrowing trek across the bunker ended at Dean’s door, Sam wished he could shove the demon inside and get back to Cas. Ten minutes might not be enough time to gather supplies, but he just wanted this to be over. Plus, he couldn’t deal with this demon for much longer without a casualty, probably himself. He started to chain the demon to Dean’s bed. 

“Oh, if only the fans of that book series could see us now. They would practically salivate at the thought of you chaining Dean onto a bed,” the demon laughed, almost sounding like sandpaper coming from his brother’s lips. 

Sam slammed the door behind him, eager to get away from that thing’s taunts. They were going to save Dean; they needed to. 

* * *

Cas walked through the bunker, a mission on mind for the first time and two days. Crowley had to know something. Of course he had to. He gathered the ingredients for the spell. Three candles. Herbs. Chalk to refresh the symbol that had been mostly washed away in the bunker’s dungeon. A knife. 

When he’d gathered everything, Sam was already pacing in the dungeon. They lit the candles and chalked up the sigil. 

“Where did you put him?” Cas asked, looking away from his work. 

“Dean’s room.”

Sam was still in denial. Hopefully, this would all be over before he could come to terms with it. 

“Alright.” Cas handed Sam the knife. 

“Et ad congregandom, Eos coram me.” Sam cut his hand with a sharp whistling of breath through his teeth. Cas through the match into the bowl, and it sent sparks and the smell of burning herbs into the air. 

“Hallo, Moose. Nice of you to call me. You and the angel finally come to your senses, I see.” 

“What happened with Cain?” Sam snarled, standing just outside of the devil’s trap by the bowl of smoldering herbs. 

“We had a tea party,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “What do you think happened, Dean got the mark of Cain.”

“You can shove it you snarky son of a bitch, what did Cain say? The demon mentioned terms and conditions, what were they?”

“Your idiot brother cut him off before he said anything,” Crowley shrugged, smirking. “I don’t have anything. Maybe I can visit the new Cain while we’re at it.”

“You did this to Dean, all of it. You need to get him out of it,” Cas said, stepping away from the wall he’d been leaning against. 

“What makes you think I want to? A knight of hell indebted to me. Dean and I could get all of the fragmented groups of demons loyal to me again. Lazy, I know, but effective.” 

“If there’s anything left of Dean in there, he’ll kill you. Even if there isn’t, do you really think a knight would help you rule hell? There’s something else,” Sam growled, eyes boring into Crowley with enough fire that Cas could feel the heat coming off of him, and, if only for a fraction of a second, Crowley’s smirk broke. 

“Fine, you want to know? Cain was a beekeeper when we found him, all mellowed out from his true love, some poor lass named Collette,” Crowley had the audacity to wink at Cas when he said this, making the angel shift slightly. “Dean prove he was ‘worthy’ by killing a veritable fuck-ton of demons, and Cain gave him the mark and killed off the rest of the buggers.” 

Sam was staring at Cas at this point, mouth slightly open, and Cas could see the gears turning in his head. A second later, his eyes snapped back to Crowley, “You can leave now.”

“What, no cookie for my hard work?”

“Leave before you get a knife in your throat.”

“Worth a try,” Crowley said as Sam scuffed the devil’s trap, and then the demon disappeared. 

“Cas, I think I have a plan.”

* * *

Sam and Cas sat at the dining room table, making no use of the piles of books and records except to rest their elbows. They looked more worn than they had in a long time, but there was a light in there eyes. Despite Sam’s proclamation a few minutes before, he looked worriedly at Cas, trying to figure out how to order his words before they inevitably fell off his tongue in a heap.  


“Dean needs you,” Sam’s mouth said, without any proper permission from his brain.  


“What?” Cas cocked his head. Dammit, no matter how much he thought about it, his words had to be senseless mallets, lacking anything even resembling finesse.  


“You heard what Crowley said about Collette, she brought Cain back. Dean needs you for this.” Dammit, dammit, dammit, if only he were talking to anyone but an angel. He hoped this worked; if it didn’t he would just be hurting Cas more.

Cas cocked his head further, far enough to where Sam was worrying whether or not it was going to fall off. “What do you mean? How?”

Fuck it. “He loves you. If there’s enough left of him, you might be able to break him free. “

Even from the outside, Sam could see Cas crumbling, all of the rubble flying inward to leave his shocked expression empty and vacant behind his dulling blue eyes. This better fucking work. If it didn't, he'd just be hurting Cas in vain hope. The angel looked as fragile as pottery, his mouth hanging open and now showing any signs of wanting to close. Of course he hadn't known; he was still an angel, too busy trying to figure out human emotions of his own to be able to even think of Dean's.

Sam had known for years. How could he not with these two idiots staring at each other pretty much constantly whenever they were together. Profound bond his ass, they loved each other; he just wished they could have known enough to see it for themselves. Hell, maybe they knew and they were just too emotionally constipated to see or, let alone, say something. He wished they could have just seen it before, because now it was just a last resort.

"Can't you do it?" Cas replied, raising his eyes slowly from the table, still trying to pick apart what Sam had told him. "You're his brother. If there's anyone that would be able to help him, it would be you."

Sam shook his head slowly. "No, I'm Dean's brother, but he's in love with you. Especially after our whole," he gestured vaguely, trying to keep any and all emotion from his voice, "-thing this year, I think it would be best not to chance it. You know, 'the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb'."

Cas was slow to make eye contact. “I’ll try, if it might help.”

Of course Cas would help Dean; he was Cas. He always came through for them. We'll, most of the time anyway, but that was better than most of the people they. Sam let out a sigh large enough to blow down a small town.

"Good, good. Thanks buddy, you sure that you're gonna be okay with this?"

"Okay is relative, I need to do this." Cas's gaze was steadier now, determined. Yeah, stupid question. None of them were really "okay" by any normal standards anyway.

"Yeah, okay," Sam replied, running his hand through his hair. "When do you think you can-" more gestures, "yeah."

"We should get some rest. Both of us." Cas looked apologetic, as if he was expecting Sam to push him not to wait. No, no, it was enough that he was doing this in the first place; he wouldn't do that to Cas.

"Sure." Sam nodded gratefully at Cas, pushing up from his seat. "Better sooner than later then."

Cas followed his lead, and they made their way to their rooms. Could have gone worse, all stiff and uncomfortable conversation on his part aside. He just hoped Cas would be able to go through with this and come out the other side intact. Dammit, this better work. The words ran around his head relentlessly, refusing to stop banging on the walls. He drifted into an uneasy sleep, still trying to make his head act as something other than a broken record.

* * *

Dean was jarred from an imitation of unconsciousness, making him jump and scrabble for the nearest weapon, an endeavor that was thwarted by the sleep still heavy in his limbs. Unsurprisingly, he was a bit more aware now after the convenient spot of rest he'd had, which caused about as much confusion as it did relief. Why would something seemingly intent on torturing him as efficiently as possible give him rest? Fuck knows, probably just playing with him.

His legs were splayed out in front of him where he was slouched against the one of the corners of the room. When he tried to move to find the sound, it felt like someone was intent on making him their pincushion. Nevertheless, he pushed himself up and immediately fell against a wall, his legs refusing to take his weight.

"Really? You must be fucking bad at this if pins and needles is the only thing you have left," Dean shouted into the seemingly empty room, itching at his right arm only to find that his fingers could still sink down to bone, the wound only having cauterized. "Lazy motherfucker, too. Not even willing to heal me before the next round."

"Nice to see you got my wake up call, I've got a show planned for you," a voice replied. Right on cue.

Leaning against the opposite wall, the thing stood. It had his face wrapped around its head, as well as his body; but it was all wrong. Everything about it looked warped and not quite right, shifting like oil on water as if the image wasn't quite acclimated to what it was hiding. Black eyes rested in its sockets, sparkling coyly. It raised its arms, gesturing widely despite the chains hanging from one of its hands.

It walked up to him, although walking wasn't exactly the most accurate description because its steps didn't sync properly with its movement.

"Sorry 'bout all the sitting around recently," it continued, running its fingers along the wall and crowding much too close to Dean, making him stand flat against one of the walls. "I figured you should have your beauty sleep before the next showing."

A sickly sweet venom clung to the thing's every word, choking dean with the proximity of what seemed to be a faucet of cyanide-saccharine. He could feel the cold, wet breath on his cheek, which didn't exactly help this illusion. Its hand flashed out and dug into the wound in his left arm, gripping it tightly with the thumbnail worming around in his flesh. It felt like a hot electricity shooting through his body at the demon's touch, but it wasn't overpowering. The pain from his wound was more potent.

"I see you were intent on destroying me. I'm afraid you might need a bit more than some weakass razor to get this particular tarnish off of your soul.” A pause lulled between them, only broken by a rushing in Dean's head. "Quiet, huh? I guess I'll just need to fix that."

The pressure on his arm increased, and the electricity vamped up to the point where he almost couldn't see with all of the blazing white in his vision. He gasped, but was able to hold in a grown. Dean wouldn't give it the satisfaction.  
"Is that all you got? And what kind of fucking show are you talking about?" Every syllable was strained, and Dean could barely keep it under control.

The demon scoffed, still crowding dean against the wall so that he could feel every breath on his neck. "You'll just have to wait and see. I'm not that stupid, you know"

Suddenly, it rushed backwards, still gripping Dean's arm like a vice. It threw him against the wall on the other side of the room, which shattered on impact, disappeared, and left him to fall onto an invisible floor over darkness. It felt like the only thing between him and the abyss was an infinitesimally thin layer of ice, which made his stomach drop through the floor and his heart start racing. Fuck heights. Really, fuck heights.

The demon stood beside him, and, before Dean could gather his thoughts enough to stand, it rested a foot on his chest. His hands grasped at the thing’s calf in an effort to dislodge it, but his efforts did nothing. It made a tsking noise, shaking its head and putting more and more pressure on his ribcage. He felt his ribs crack, one, then two, then three. More pressure. Dean could feel blood rising in his throat. When his lungs were filled with more blood than air, he capitulated, lying spread-eagled on the nonexistent floor.

“Well, now that you’re,” it hissed, smirking and pausing for effect, “subdued. I can go have some real fun.” With a flourish and a snap, the demon and the floor disappeared. Dean fell for approximately two milliseconds before he felt something, a chain, snaking around his wrists. When it tightened, he wrenched to a stop sharp enough that he was surprised his arms weren’t ripped off, although he did have at least a few torn tendons. When he looked up, he saw only indentations and ripped skin where the chain should have been.

That motherfucker was controlling his head like its own personal playpen, and there was absolutely nothing he could do. It could toss him around left and right, hurting everyone he loved on the way. If only there was someone other than him that could have killed it. If only he could have-

Dean's thought was interrupted by a shock to the back of his neck, sharp like a needle. He craned his head back to hit his assaulter, but there was nothing there. Shocker. He hung for a few seconds, not knowing anything else to do, or anything that he could do; then, his vision was filled with a blinding white. His eyelids flew open, craving the dark of their surroundings, but finding nothing. All of his nerves were white hot with pain, and Dean yelled and kicked into the darkness, static filling his brain. However, the light’s intensity began to dim into color. He waited, heart still hammering against his sternum, as the oil on water mirage drifted into a striking resemblance of his room. His body lay out on his bed, and his hands moved without his control, picking at his nails boredly despite the shackles around his wrists.

This wasn’t like the other times he’d been tossed back into his body, that was for sure. For one thing he wasn’t controlling anything, and, though he could hear the thoughts running through his mind, he couldn’t comprehend them beyond a fantastically annoying buzz, so he decided not to bother. All of the demon’s motions were languid and catlike. Never having been possessed, it was shocking to Dean how disconcerting it was to be in his head but not be able to control anything, or feel anything beyond the version of himself hanging from chains in his own head.

A harsh scraping outside of the door of his room made Dean star. The room had been barricaded with a chair, but now that it was removed Sam moved abruptly into the room with his eyes flitting from the floor, to Dean, and back down again.

"So, Goliath came back to play," the demon sneered, coming to a standing position in a single, fluid movement.

"Shut up and move," Sam replied. He gestured through the doorway and, as the demon passed him, it winked his eyes to black. If only Dean could get a chance at the bastard with a knife, his hands, anything, he would rip it apart.

As Sam walked the demon across the bunker, it wouldn't stop babbling fucking constantly. What it was doing to Dean in his head, what was left of him, lies upon lies of what Dean had thought of Sam were spilling out of his mouth. So customary of a demon. Dean marveled at how Sam could go with out punching the thing. Everything it did forged a fire in Dean's stomach to the point were he felt he was going to explode. If only he could just die properly for once.

When the journey to the dungeon was finally at an end, Dean had chewed his lip to the point where it was starting to bleed. Don't you worry in there big boy, this is just the boring bit. It's gonna get better, Dean heard echo around his head.

"Go fuck yourself!" he yelled back. Before he could get into the semantics of his statement, the demon chuckled, raising a questioning look from Sam who was busy securing the chains around his wrists. Maybe later.

"What?" Sam asked the demon. Fuck, there were too many conversations going on at once and it was making Dean's head spin.

"Oh, just Dean. It's fun watching him run around like a trapped animal. Very amusing." Sam didn't respond, instead opting to finish securing the demon to the chair.

"Stay there and don't fucking move," Sam said after he'd finished. Something about the tone of his voice, maybe how cold and flat it was, or maybe how it was veiling an ache deep enough to drown in, grated at Dean harshly.

"Ooh, I'm practically shaking. I don't know whether to be terrified or aroused." Dean swore he could feel Sam's contempt and disgust.

"You can shut up," Sam repeated, and Dean got the feeling that that particular phrase was being used all too commonly in the demon's interactions. The door slammed roughly at Sam's back. Kid brother's rude. How can you stand him?

"Practice," Dean muttered under his breath.

Minutes dragged on and on, seemingly endless. Dean almost couldn't tell if time was slowed due to the fact that he was in his own personal hell, or if it was just his company. The demon made use of the time by fidgeting like a bored child and singing at the top of his lungs. That was his thing to annoy Sam; that thing couldn't cannibalize it like that.

After the third performance of Back in Black, Dean heard Sam walk up to the door. Except, the door didn't open; Sam stood outside, and Dean could just hear his muffled voice through the iron. 

"Should I stay in there with you? Things might go bad, and I don't want you getting hurt."

"Sam, I'm dying, you aren't." Cas. "My grace is almost gone, so the least I can do is try. But I can't put you in danger to try to save a month or two of my life."

Dean could almost hear Sam nodding begrudgingly through the door. But wait, this meant they had a plan. 

"Try to stay safe," Sam added. 

"Since when has that ever worked," Cas replied wryly. Sam must have looked heartbroken at that, because Cas was quick to add, "but I'll try."

It was too much like a goodbye for Dean's comfort. Whatever Cas was going to do, he could die, and at Dean's hand. His heart started to pick up again. No, no, please god no. He's lost too many people already, and he couldn't lose Cas too. If only there was a deity left that would listen to him, the remnants of a soul already half demon. 

"You better not fucking touch him or-" Dean yelled. Fuck, there was nothing he could do. He was useless and powerless, stuck like a rat in a cage. 

Trust me, you'll feel his blood on your arms and see the grace flicker out of his eyes. You keep running around in there, but you can't do shit. 

Dean could hear Cas pushing the door open. If there was only some fucking way he could yell out; if only his prayers could make it through his own thick skull. When Cas appeared through the door, he looked worn, tired, and just resigned. Dean could see the millennia he'd lived weighing on his eyes and darkening the sling under them. Cas's eyes had lost every bit of their electricity, save a spark of determination. Everything that made Cas was drifting and dying out, but he wouldn't die without saving Dean Winchester one more time. 

Dean didn't deserve Cas dying for him, and Cas didn't deserve to die, period. There had to be something he could do, anything. He strained against the chains, but to no avail. There wasn't enough left of him to control himself. 

"Dean," Cas said, slow and steady, pulling Dean out of his his thoughts. Cas didn't know what to say, and how could he? This was a hopeless situation that he was trying to fix. "Dean I hope you can hear me. I know-"

"Boring! Could you save your speech for another time and just get on with it?" it groaned. "Please do spare me the details of your soppy, unrequited love affair."

Cas gaped for a moment before continuing. Dean was amazed his persistence, as he felt he'd been punched in the gut. "Dean, I know you're in there. I can still see you. You're stubborn enough to fight this; if forty years can't destroy you, neither can this. You and the mark are still two beings, not integrated. You can still fight it." 

Cas put so much trust in him. This millennia old being that could have crushed him underfoot thought he could overcome the Mark of Cain. But he couldn't; this was too big. 

"Wow, I would applaud if my hands weren't so tied up." It faked a sob. "I think I might have even shed a tear or two. Would you mind-"

"Shut up! I'm not talking to you an you know it," Cas roared. 

"Ooh, feisty. I like that, angel," it growled before Cas could say anything else, a fierce sneer curling his lips. "The Dean in me wants to tear that trench coat off of you. But we don't have anytime for that."

Cas tried to speak, but the demon raised its voice to cover his. "And I'm getting bored of sitting in this chair." It cracked his neck, and drew out an unsettling number of pops to demonstrate its piont. "Time for a change in scenery."

At that, it snapped and appeared leaning against a wall behind Cas. "Ah, now that's what I'm talking about." It flicked his eyes to black as Cas whipped around to face him, blade falling into his hand as he went. "Nice ass by the way."

In the second Cas hesitated, the demon grabbed the hand holding the knife and kneed him in the stomach, making him double over. Cas was slow and sluggish with his grace burning out, but the demon was practically rippling with energy, and using it to move at seemingly superhuman speed. Dean could almost smell the electricity flowing through the room. 

The demon took its chance and kneed Cas in the face before slamming Dean's fist into the angel's ear. Cas stumbled to one side, but recovered enough to push the demon away, buying him second he needed to stand up. Blood was drippng down Cas's face from a badly broken nose, and training the white shirt under his suit. He was already in bad shape, having to face a battle on two fronts: from the grace inside him and from the demon. 

Dean yelled into his head. He was so furious that it made him sick to his stomach and filled his head with white noise. Fuck, he had to do something! He needed to get out, take control, save Cas, anything. There had to be a way. His wrists strained against the chains and he kicked into the air blindly everything around him started to feel red hot and glowing. 

The demon hit Cas like a freight train, clocking him across the face hard enough to send Cas into a corner. Cas barely blocked a punch to the chest while he pushed off the wall. He wouldn't fight back, not really anyway. Cas couldn't hurt Dean. He was mostly gone anyway, why couldn't the fucker just fight?! Dean felt a sob fighting through his yells, but he pushed it down. Not the time! Then, the demon slammed Cas against the wall, one arm holding down the angel's and another against Cas's throat. 

"Come on, Dean, we can fix this," Cas sputter. The words barely made it past his lips, and then blood started to trickle out in a small stream from the corner of his mouth. It held him against the wall for a second longer before throwing him on the ground with a resounding thump. 

"Oh, angel, this is far beyond broken," it hissed back at the bloodied and broken angel. 

Suddenly, Sam appeared behind it, locking an arm around his throat. But he couldn't hold it off; it was too angry, and there was enough adrenaline pumping through its veins that there probably wasn't much that could. Before Sam could throw a punch, it elbowed the side of his head, threw him to the ground, and kicked until he'd lost conciousness. 

"You'll get your turn!" it roared. There was nothing that could stop it, Dean thought. It was completely unhinged, anger flowing from it like a river. 

That was his fucking baby brother. "Sammy!" he screamed, but there wasn't any use. He crying now, and a big churning ball of emotion sat it his gut, waiting to explode out. 

The demon turned back to Cas, who'd stood up during it's brawl with Sam. It wasn't long before he was back on the ground, having taken a kick to the side of the head. The demon was on top of him in less than a second, keeping his arms flat on the ground, despite the fact that the blade had already skittered across the room. 

"Try to fucking fix this? You failed, you'll always fail. You're dead anyways. And so's your precious fucking Righteous Man" it growled, and raised a fist to punch Cas across the face again. Dean could see the fire in his oil black eyes reflected is Cas's blue orbs, and hear a quavering in his own voice that was far beyond sanity. 

Dean felt his hand come down. Actually felt, not just saw. He could feel the bones of Cas's face breaking as his fists came down again and again and again. 

This couldn't happen. He focused everything on the chains around his wrists. Cas raised a hand and caught one of Dean's fists. Then, Cas's hands worked seemingly of their own volition, fisting in the collar of Dean's jacket and bring Cas's busted lips to meet Dean's. Suddenly, everything around and in Dean felt in his head went white hot and flashed away with the force of a nuclear explosion. 

* * *

Cas was delirious. Everything in his vision was blackened and spinning, and the only thing he really felt clearly was the point of a blade digging sharply into his back and the place where his hands grasped Dean's jacket. And Dean's lups against his. That hadn't been part of the plan. 

Quickly, he let go of the fabric, plopping onto the floor and almost hitting his head on the ground hard enough to knock out the rest of the way. A thought dragged it's way across his mind: the demon wasn't hitting him anymore. He tried to focus his spinning vision on Dean's face. What he saw almost made him choke on his own blood. 

In that instant, Dean was completely and wholly human. 

Dean," Cas gurgled to the man who was still on top of him and seemingly on the verge of collapsing despite being frozen. 

"Cas," Dean breathed, sounding weathered, ancient, strained. He was exhausted down to his bones, shading his eyes. "Cas I hurt you."

"It wasn't you; it was-"

Then Dean howled in pain, startling Cas enough that he scrambled I lean against the nearest wall. Dean regained his composure quickly, but his face beads of sweat were beginning to form on pale, strained face. "It's trying to come back."

"Dean, there needs to be something we can-" 

"No, just give me the fucking blade." The urgency in Dean's voice was enough to wake Cas up to his meaning. 

"I don't have it. I wouldn't deliver it to the only thing that could-"

"Cas, if you didn't bring in here, what was the fucking plan. You were trying to get me back so I could use it." Dean voice was thick, with pain or emotion Cas couldn't tell. 

Cas could feel salt stinging the places where his face had been split open. The first time he'd ever cried, and of course it had to be over Dean. Silently, reached behind his back and pulled the velvet wrapped blade from under his waistband. 

"I'll save you again," he urged. He had to. 

"You know there's nothing left to save. Ta-" he was interrupted by another cry of pain, but he caught his breath. "Please take care of Sammy for me."

"Dean, please, there has to be something-" 

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered with his head hanging down and his thumb smoothing over the blade's handle before wrapping around it. Light around the mark started dancing excitedly, but the time was passed. Dean shoved the blade cleanly between his ribs, behind his sternum and into his heart, his eyes glowing with a fierce red light. His head tilted upward, like a man screaming for an absent god, but there was no yell. Only a boom resonating around the room as Dean lit up like a supernova. Then he slumped, and Cas barely caught him before he crashed backward into the ground. 

The angel, frozen in the midst of falling, sobbing into the sandy brown hair of a dead knight of hell. He'd been so pure before, but he would never change what he'd done. This man, this tiny, insignificant, and so, so human man was worth more than the world to him. And now, that man was dead, leaving him shattered into dust. 

"Dean, just-" his voice was breaking left and right. Everything he's done was dead in his arms. "Please. I love you."

He was rocking back and forth, holding Dean to his chest. Useless. That's all he was. After all he'd done, good and mostly bad, he couldn't even save the one human that meant the most to him. Here he was, a legend, dying with blazing cardboard wings utterly alone except for a corpse and a still unconscious Sam, who was in worse shape than Cas at the sound of how ragged his breathing was, slow, shallow, and rattling. Of course it always had to end like this. They would all need to die in the end. 

Team free will, Dean had called them. The three that had saved the world. But no hero could have a happy ending; they would all go out silently and alone, not with a bang, but with a whimper.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading this. I can't even express my gratitude in words so *throws love and confetti all over everyone*. I kind of imagine the beginning of Sounds of Silence playing in the end. Anyway, it's late, or early depending on how you're looking at it; but still eight a.m. either way, so I'm going to sleep. Again, thank you so, so, so much.


End file.
